


with a heart as willing

by stuckytrash (Watsittoyou)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Enemies to Lovers, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Prince Steve, War, king steve, prince bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-22 16:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13768410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watsittoyou/pseuds/stuckytrash
Summary: “Your people have waged a war,” Steve said coldly, as he was greeted by the Queen herself. “Not mine. My Queen was savagely murdered by your people, and I seek justice.”“Justice does not warrant a war,” but the Queen is exhausted. “My people have not waged it, Hydra has. I beg you to reconsider, Prince Steven-"“Give me another option,” he demanded, outraged.“A union,” Prince James cut in, scathing. "The hand we offer is mine."





	with a heart as willing

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NOT HISTORICALLY ACCURATE.  
> There are passing references to events that occur between 1450-1650. Assume this takes place towards the end of that era in a FICTIONAL Kingdom in a FICTIONAL country. NOT America. I just want to make that clear so it doesn't come across as erasing Native American culture, or anything equally problematic.  
> All mistakes are my own.

 

 

“Your highnesses,” the Squire bowed low, “The roads have been cleared and your carriage awaits.”

“Thank you,” Her Majesty the Queen dismissed with a graceful bow of her head. “My son will not be in attendance, but we thank you for your thoroughness.”

“The carriage driver encourages you to take your leave by the noon hour,” the Squire said, and dismissed himself politely.

Prince Steven watched with only the slightest inkling of irritation; his mother had bestowed a great task upon him, and he would complete it. Her age was wearing thin on her face, spreading wrinkles out from her crow’s feet to the lines of her forehead.

Queen Sarah was ageing; it was the Court’s expectation that within the next decade, Her Majesty would be unable to rule. She was preparing him for that; since he was old enough to be declared heir to the throne, she had sworn that he would be the best ruler that the North had ever known.

She had insisted, when he came of age, that he fight amongst his people in their war to best of his ability. He must learn humility, to be humble, to love and cherish his people and the lengths they were willing to go to serve him.

He must recognise his blessings, in that the witch doctor Erskine granted him strength, at the piteous age of eight, to survive through one night, then another, until he became so strong he had no need for another’s.

“Mother,” he told her gently. “Enjoy your parade.”

“Our parade, dear.”

“It isn’t my parade until I’m King,” he reminded her, kissing her gently on the cheek and having to bend down low to reach. “Our people line up to glimpse only you, Mother.”

It was true; her manner was calm, her kingdom prosperous. Their land stretched farther than any other, with exports stretched even across the seas, and his mother had propagated that herself.

“And one day, they shall line up to see you, my son.” She pressed a hand onto his cheek.  “You are almost twenty-two, my dear. Many of my advisors find it strange that you have yet to wed.”

“We may have this conversation later today, Mother.” He sighed, shaking his head. “You’ve been patient enough to wait this long. Perhaps that can stretch to another few hours.”

She shook her head. “My dear, it can’t. I want you to be happy, my love. Why not ask for Lady Carter’s hand? She was a spectacular woman, one of my best Knights, and so clearly holds your favour.”

“Lady Carter’s hand belongs to that of her serving girl,” Steve reminds his mother. “And she waits only for the opportunity to tell her father.”

“I wish you’d let me throw you a ball.” She shook her head. “There are so many beautiful, worthy women in our kingdom, and you would be lucky to have any one of them.”

“Perhaps, Mother,” he said for possibly the hundredth time. “I do not wish for a woman.”

“If you do not want to marry a woman, then how are you going to have any children? Who will be the heir to our throne?”

“Mother-”

“I’ve always been more than fair to you, my son.” She sighed, almost like she was ashamed of herself. “But I must say this. If you have not wed by the time you turn twenty-five, I will arrange a marriage for you. If you do not want to marry a woman, then so be it. Perhaps deals can be made with our neighbouring kingdoms.”

“You wouldn’t,” he paused, staring at his mother, the Queen, who had always been fair, loving, honest, as she told him that he could no longer be a bachelor. “Mother, you can’t do this. You’ve always said you’ve longed to see me marry for love.”

“And I worry that I won’t live to see it. I didn’t marry your father for love, but I loved him until the day he died, and every day after. My dear, I wish you could understand how this feels. To know that my son may never love anyone-”

“I’ve heard enough, Mother.” He interrupted, and it was only when he was as emotionally winded as he was that he could get away with such petulance, even to his mother.

“But you haven’t. I wish we didn’t have to have this argument. I know Lady Romanoff has been… encouraging you to find someone. Why haven’t you been listening to her?”

“Lady Romanoff insists everyone I meet is a potential partner. I disagree. You don’t have time for us to argue over this, Mother. You must put your gown on. The people do not want to see their Queen in her nightclothes.”

“And you have a meeting with our general.” She said pointedly. “Winter cannot cope the threat of war, and we need to exert pressure on them.”

“Their people are crippled by poverty and famine, Mother. It’s unethical to threaten war for no reason other than we want their land. They have done no harm to our kingdom, but their land is by far one of the most plentiful in the country – if we can instead create a peace treaty, it will be much simpler-”

“I will not be swayed on this, Steven,” the Queen cut him off sharply. “You will do well to learn that to be King, you will need to be forceful.”

“Winter has done nothing to us. They are a useful ally and an excellent partner in trading. They do not deserve to have us threaten them with a war.”

“Listen to Colonel Philips and what he has to say about Winter’s Hydra faction and say that again.” she warned him. With that, Her Majesty declared that she had had enough of the conversation, holding her hand out for Steve to take, helping her to her feet. “I will see you at supper, Steven. Where we can discuss _all_ of our options.”

The Prince sighed heavily; he wished he didn’t have such a caring mother, because it made it hard to hate her at times like this, when she lay all of the truth down and told him he couldn’t do something.

His mother was, the eyes of him and his kingdom both, the best Queen they’d had for over a century.

 

“Our Intelligence says that HYDRA has managed to recruit known witches to the cause,” Phillips began, and Steve sat a little straighter, attention completely on the briefing.

“Known witches?” He asked, voice hard.

“Arnim Zola, is one,” Nick Fury responded, pushing over a sketch of the witch, followed by a second. “Loki of Asgard, another.”

“The Asgardian Prince?” Steve raised his eyebrows. “What does the King think of this?”

“His Majesty is considering declaring war on Winter on the basis of treason.”

“We shouldn’t be declaring war on _Winter_ ,” Steve almost growled. “We should be offering them our support to defeat HYDRA. Look at their Kingdom’s map,” He pointed to the section of the large map that belonged specifically to Winter. It was directly adjacent to theirs, the Great Kingdom, and above the Asgardian Kingdom. They had coloured in specific sections of the map corresponding to rising rumours of Hydra factions.

“Almost thirty percent of their Kingdom is Hydra, and that’s what we know of.” He seethed. “Winter’s Kingdom may not be the largest of the three, but this is easily large enough for a whole city itself. If we don’t offer our support to Queen Winifred, she could find her whole Kingdom falling to corruption.”

“One may argue,” Secretary Pierce interrupted, and for all that Steve didn’t like him, he was his mother’s most trusted advisor. “That the best solution to this problem is to execute the witches.”

“No,” Steve said instantly. “We are not the Catholic Monarchs, we are not going to create an Inquisition to hunt down the very people doing this kingdom, and all other kingdoms, a service. Frankly, Pierce, your own daughter’s life was saved by a witch, as was mine.” His voice was hard. “While my mother strongly values your opinion, I hope that in this case, she decides against it.”

Steve turned his gaze back to Colonel Philips, crown upon his head never weighing more than it did during those meetings.

“Have we been in contact with Queen Barnes?”

“No, but we have received requests for assistance from Crown Prince James.”

“Show me,” Steve insisted, and he was passed a sepia envelope with a letter written in cursive. “When did we receive this?”

“This morning, Your Highness. The messenger stated it was sent with the utmost urgency.”

Steve took a long moment to read the letter.

“Have you read this?” he asked his general, then turning to his tactical advisor. “Have either of you even looked at this?”

“Your Highness, of course we-” Fury seemed to sense his underlying temper, but Steve was irritated.

“Because if you had, you would very clearly see the Prince of this Kingdom pleading for help from another.  Do you know how much pride you must put aside to even begin to write a letter like this?”

“Your Highness-”

“There are days where I would rather die than have to write a letter like this. When I’d rather surrender my Kingdom, renounce my claim to the throne, and leave, than write a letter like this. _My people have never had fear so harshly struck into their hearts than they have now_. _My sister is afraid to leave our Castle for fear of being overthrown; we cannot, the three of us, all leave, for if we do, our home will be sieged, and our Kingdom shall burn_. _I fear for my mother’s life, for, as Queen, she stands in their way greater than I do._ ” He growls, disgusted. “How can you even think to justify a war on these people? They want peace more than we do.”

“Prince Steven,” Pierce began, voice low and challenging, even though his head was bowed in respect; sometimes, the Secretary remembered his place. Fortunately for Steve’s ears, however, he was spared whatever he may say by the door thundering open.

“Your highness!” came one of his knights, gasping, red-faced and desperate.

“This is a private meeting.” Fury almost dismissed, but there was a tentative curiosity to his expression that forbade him from acting.

“It’s the Queen,” Sir Barton cried. The ground shifted beneath Steve’s feet. “She’s been attacked.”

 

There were two attackers.

Both hailed from Winter.

It took every ounce of Steve’s self-control, of his twenty-one years of being raised as honest, and pure of heart, not to execute the two where they stood; there were children in the crowd that had _already seen their Queen near-slaughtered. His people needed to see justice._

 

The last words his mother said to him, healers unable to stem the bleeding, were like this.

“My son,” and her voice was so frail, her body failing her. “They cannot go to war. They cannot…”

“I know, mother,” he assured her. “But they have committed the most unforgiveable crime. This morning, mother, you were prepared to wage war; I will honour that.”

“Steven…” her breath was shuddering, her eyes tearful and unfocused, unable to even see his face. She reached for him so slowly, that he met he halfway, taking one hand in his two, shrouding her in what little comfort he could offer to his dying mother. “You – you are a better – better man than your father was…”

He waited for her to continue, to grasp his hand tightly and warmly, the ever-present feeling of light in his life.

She didn’t.

Her grip went slack.

The Queen was dead.

Long live the King.

 

His new crown was heavy upon his head; adorned with jewels he did not need, but their Kingdom could afford for being so prosperous. It was also heavy with the grief for his mother, who had been ageing gracefully, but had that taken from her so forcefully.

Seven days after her brutal murder, she was buried peacefully before the kingdom; near the whole Kingdom wore black, there were so many tears he was proud of his mother for touching so many so deeply, and promised to do just the same.

He did not cry.

One day after the funeral, her two murderers were hung before a roaring crowd, and Steve couldn’t bring himself to watch as their bodies fell and hung limp.

Three days after her funeral, he rallied an army of one thousand men and led them himself to the Castle of Barnes.

 

“Your people have waged a war,” Steve said coldly, as he was greeted by the Queen herself. “Not mine. My Queen was savagely murdered by your people, and I seek justice.”

“Justice does not warrant a war,” but the Queen is exhausted. “My people have not waged it, Hydra has. I beg you to reconsider, Prince Steven-”

“I am the King, now, following my mother’s cruel death,” his voice turned even sharper, even colder. “But if you can give me even a single reason that I should not wage war, then I won’t.”

“Because you got my letter!” came a man’s voice from across the room, and came storming in a man with such an air of regality and anger that Steve could not help but stop and stare. The man was young, possibly only his own age, if perhaps, slightly older. His head, like Steve’s once was, was adorned with a Prince’s crown, and with a start, he remembered the letter from Prince James pleading for his assistance. “You got my letter, and still you think that we should go to war?”

“Only moments before my mother was killed,” Steve said slowly, voice low and dangerous. “I was convincing my war council _not_ to wage war on your people.”

“And now things have changed,” the Prince acknowledged, but the bow to his head was curbed by a sneer; even that looked intriguing to Steve. “But this more than most should show you what we face. We cannot depend on our people. You have that luxury, but we are at war with ourselves. We cannot go to war, King Steven.”

“Give me another option,” he said and waited. He thought it odd how he didn’t feel triumphant; didn’t feel like he was justified, nor right.

“An alliance.” The Prince’s mother spoke up, but Steve was still entranced by the Prince. “Waging war on my people will not defeat the greater threat. Hydra has already spread beyond the regions of my kingdom, and soon we will be at war with ourselves.”

“We ally with one another, and wage war on Hydra. Asgard will follow your lead.”

It was true, Steve acknowledged, that his kingdom was larger than the other two. If he waged war on Winter, Asgard would no doubt follow suit, and they would be overwhelmed within the year. But if he declared a treaty…

“An alliance will not return my mother. She was innocent until the moment she died. She had been nothing but forgiving to your kingdom until you turned your back on her.”

“An alliance will not return her to you, no,” Prince James agreed, and still, Steve could not take his gaze from the Prince, from the fire in his eyes and the posture of a man who would one day be a great King. “But neither will vengeance on a Kingdom as innocent as your mother.”

Steve blinked, head tilting too one side as he eyed the Prince carefully. He had been caught off guard, that much was obvious to the other rulers, but the young man knew just where to hit him hardest.

“What sort of alliance do you seek?” he asked at last. “If I do not like the terms, we can either negotiate, or go to war.”

“A union,” the Queen said, and Steve’s eyebrows shot up. She was perfectly serious, put-together, but the weariness to her words showed so clearly how hard it was to put into words.

This woman was selling her Kingdom to keep her people safe.

Steve, for the first time, let his eyes leave the Prince to meet the Queen’s gaze, sorrowful and regretful.

“I apologise, Your Majesty,” he said, humbled by the offer, but unable to accept. “I have no desire to wed your daughter. Truly, I appreciate how deep this offer extends, but I cannot in good conscience accept.”

“She’s not talking about Princess Rebecca,” the Prince interrupted, tone perfectly controlled and even, and Steve’s gaze was drawn to him once again. “Her hand belongs to Prince George of the Islands of Proctor.”

Steve hesitated, shivering lightly as he stumbled over his words. “I cannot in good conscience accept the hand of the Princess Sophia, either,” he swallowed. He would not be like many of his predecessors; the younger Princess Sophia was only in her eleventh year, from what he could remember. Her birth came only weeks after the death of King George.

“She is far, far too young for talks of marriage,” Prince James cut in, scathing. “The hand we offer is mine.”

 

Steve told himself he accepted because he saw the grief stricken upon the faces of Winter’s people as they saw his soldiers march to the castle. He told himself he accepted to spare the lives of thousands. He told himself he accepted to gain Winter’s throne for himself upon Queen Winifred’s death.

He would never admit that he accepted purely to explore the enigma of the young Prince James.

 

It felt wrong, on a certain level, to have the Prince of Winter ride out beside him, away from his homeland, away from his people, sealing himself to a fate that some thought worse than death.

But Prince James accepted his role like it was little more than a part to play in the theatre. His head was held high, and he comforted his people with only a smile, so graceful and calm that he felt the tender love of his subjects radiating to him like a blanket of protection.

 “My people starve,” Prince James exclaimed so suddenly that Steve turned to face him, bewildered at the sudden urge to talk. The carriage rattled on the road. “My people face famine and poverty, and now they face Hydra. For decades they have been growing, and now they possess the support of witches. If we do not act, both of our Kingdoms will be overrun.” He looked up then, and there was a certain detachment to his gaze, a certain coldness not directed at the King so much as the situation they left themselves in. “If you cannot promise me that, to the best of your ability, you will fight these traitors, then I will take one of your horses and ride home.”

Steve took a long moment to consider his answer, but did not for a second let his gaze leave the Prince’s.

“You seek protection for your kingdom. I avenge my mother. If that is what you desire, I will pledge my whole army to fight Hydra.”

“A single army will not suffice,” but he seemed appeased, if only for a moment, and turned his gaze back to the window of the carriage, and ignored his betrothed once more.

 

His own subjects whispered among themselves, eyes trained on the foreign prince. King Steve set out to declare war, and instead returned with a peace treaty and foreign Prince.

“Prince James is to receive the utmost respect from all,” Steve decreed, voice booming as every man, woman, and child the crown employed stood waiting in the throne room. Many of them, he knew, had been trembling, waiting as he entered for the declaration that peace in their country had been interrupted; that they were to go to war

Steve was no idiot; having fought alongside his own soldiers for two years when came of age, he knew that his people did not want a war. Many feared it, and many knew that it would bring them nought more than death.

“He is a guest in our Kingdom.” He swallowed then, allowing his gaze to slide over the poised Prince. “And he is to be my consort.”

There was no silence, only the slight increase in volume as his people whispered more frantically amongst themselves.

“Your – your majesty,” one of his knights interrupted tentatively. “Are you feeling quite well? Perhaps – perhaps we can have a healer visit you.”

“Ailments of the mind are no business of a healer,” he responded curtly. “And I am quite sane. The only way for the Kingdom of Winter to atone for treason is for a union between our Kingdoms.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his betrothed look sharply away; shame bubbled beneath his skin. The dowry Winter had paid was substantial; they would likely feel the loss harshly.

“As of today,” he decided, determined not to allow his future spouse to feel like an outsider. “Winter is absolved of any wrongdoing against our Kingdom. We offer our support and army to them, as we declare war on our mutual enemy – Hydra.”

There was a series of murmuring once more, and he held up a hand to silence them.

“I will convene the war council tomorrow. For today, we rest. And we celebrate the union between our Kingdoms.”

 

Word travelled quickly, and Steve was not surprised in the least to have Natasha slamming the door to his throne room open mere moments after he dismissed the crowd.

“If you had wanted to wed Prince James,” she huffed, irritated. “Then you should have told me. I’ve known him for thirteen years, Steve.”

“Natalia!” the Prince himself exclaimed, the most joyful Steve had seen him as he shed his regality to greet his cousin with open arms.

“James, honestly, you’re an idiot,” she grumbled even as she let him hug her.

“Why haven’t you visited us? Sophia misses-” he caught himself, shooting an unreadable look to Steve. “She’s missed you. My mother wouldn’t mind if you visited.”

“Don’t be like that,” she told him, though it was not harsh. “Steve is far from a tyrant. If you insist on visiting them yourself, he will not say no. Right, Steve?”

“Yes, Natasha.” He sighed long-sufferingly. “Although I have to remind you that in most kingdoms, you would be executed for such insolence.”

Prince James’ gaze snapped to his sharply, and he took a stiff stance in front of Natasha.

“He’s kidding, James.” She chided. “I’m far too valuable for any kingdom to execute, let alone this one.”

“And Natasha is a close friend of mine,” he assured James. “I don’t make a habit of executing my allies.”

“Hmm.” Was the Prince’s only reply, and even that had a story that Steve wanted to unwind.

“Are you serious about this?” Natasha interrupted, gaze hard and unflinching as she stared her King down.

“Yes,” he said simply, side eyeing James. “Hydra killed my mother. My people don’t know the difference between his people and Hydra. If I do nothing, I’ll start my reign as a cowardly King.”

“Your highness,” James interrupted, though he didn’t meet Steve’s gaze. “I wish to be excused. May I be directed to my quarters?”

Steve nodded, having at least had the sense to send a message ahead instructing his servants to make up a bed in the royal wing.

“Happy,” he called, and the man stepped forward, a smile as wide as his namesake on his face as he bowed to the Prince.

“Certainly, Your Majesty. If Prince James will follow me…”

Natasha and Steve watched them go with piqued curiosity; not once had James allowed his guard down, and Steve wondered if he ever would.

“You have a lot to answer for, Steve.” Natasha warned as soon as the doors closed. “What the hell are you thinking? This may be one of your worst ideas yet! It wouldn’t be so bad if you weren’t the _King_ , but now I know for sure you’re _really_ not thinking your plans through!”

“My people expect a war,” he responded harshly. “While Winter’s people don’t deserve to suffer for the actions of Hydra, I cannot allow them to get away with the murder of my _mother_. The _Queen_. This is the only way we can all be pleased.”

“Except James,” Natasha spat. “He’s signed himself over to a lifetime of suffering at your hands-”

“You really think I’ll be such an atrocious husband?” he shook his head. “I’ll give Prince James whatever freedoms I can offer. He won’t be a prisoner here.”

“Of course he will be!” she raged. “He’s marrying a man he’s never met purely to stop a war! He’s never going to be free of you, which makes him a prisoner!”

“Fine!” Steve roared, taking a harsh step closer to her. Natasha did not back away from him. “Then I’ll have him return to his people, and declare _war_ on him instead? Would you prefer that, Lady Romanoff? Would you prefer to use your armies against your cousin, instead of against your foes?”

She wisely kept her response to herself, though pursed her lips.

“If he ever wants to call off this arrangement,” he levelled with her. “Even after the fact. We’ll get a divorce, and he can return to his Kingdom. If it comes to that, we’ll renegotiate.”

 “Just because the Queen knew you’d rather take a man than a woman?” she chided him drily. “That’s low, even for you. Why did you accept?”

He grunted low in his throat, tuning his gaze away. “I accepted because… because Winter is interesting. Queen Winifred… she never even considered offering her daughters’ hands. Only James’.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

 “Natasha.” He warned, but even as King, he could never make her do anything. “He – he intrigued me.”

She paused.

“Now why didn’t you just say so?” she teased, amused, and then left him to his own thoughts.

 

Once the castle retired for the evening, Steve decided it would be a good idea to at least try to establish some kind of a friendship with his future husband.

So, determined, the young King passed by his own bedroom undisturbed and knocked on the one beside it; it was almost identical to his own chambers, and was built specifically for the purpose of housing a betrothed before their marriage.

His knocking received no response, but he heard fumbling on the other side and waited a moment, before hearing a low and throaty,

“Come in.”

Steeling himself, Steve took a deep breath, pushing the door open slowly.

“Prince James,” he greeted quietly, and the young man looked surprised to see him.

“Your highness,” his tone betrayed him. “I – this is a rather late hour to be calling…” There was a waver to his voice, a certain apprehension in his gaze despite the steel gates. It occurred to Steve, like a shock to his chest, exactly how Prince James might perceive this situation. Or rather, what Steve might do to him.

“I’m not here to…” he shook his head. “I just want to make it clear to you that – well. You won’t be a prisoner here. I hope you won’t hate it. We’ll do everything we can to make you happy here.”

The Prince was quiet for a moment, and the apprehension in his gaze dissipated; Steve got the impression that he was ashamed of his instant thought.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked suddenly, and Steve startled. “Your highness,” he amended.

“I don’t…” Steve frowned. “Should I?”

“I suppose not,” Prince James sighed.  “When you knew me, it wasn’t as Prince James.”

“What did I know you as?”

Prince James smiled at him, secretive and wistful. “I’ll leave that with you, Your Majesty.”

“Steve,” he corrected gently with a sigh. “If we’re going to be wed, then…”

Prince James cocked his head, a curiosity to his eyes. “Then you can call me James. Until, of course, you remember how you knew me.”

“So I knew you as something other than James,” Steve smiled gently. “Is that the only clue I get?”

“Yes,” he chuckled, dropping his gaze. “Unintentional though it was, it is still a clue.”

“Good night, James,” he murmured softly, backing out of his betrothed’s room, and retiring to his own.

His last thought as he slipped into unconsciousness was that he wasn’t entirely certain why he had taken James’ offer.

 

“James?” Steve asked tentatively, once they managed to have a few moments’ peace between the announcement of their engagement, the planning of their ball, and other miscellaneous, Kingly-things that nobody had deigned to tell him.

“Yes, your-” James stalled, catching himself. “Steve?”

“I, well.” Despite the crown on his head declaring him King of the Realm, he still had no luck speaking to those he may have an interest in. “I brought you a gift.”

For a moment, the foreign Prince merely stared at him, raising a single eyebrow.

“A… gift?”

“Yes,” he nodded sheepishly, reaching for the small book that he had stowed beneath his throne purely for the moment they could speak. “It was… brought to my attention that you have an appreciation for the Greeks. I don’t know if you’ve read this, but it’s one from my grandfather’s collection.”

The other brow joined the first high on his forehead as James reached tentatively for the book.

“I have read this before,” James sounded almost apologetic, but Steve had yet to be deterred. “But I thank you for your generosity, your highness. I… don’t have anything to return the favour.”

“This isn’t about favour,” he promised gently, electing not to correct the Prince’s slip-up with his title. “This is about showing you that you are welcome here. And you may peruse the library at your leisure. I hope that you will find something that interests you there.”

James turning the book over in his hands, almost marvelling at the golden gilding, the worn, heavy book that was far older than his line.

“Thank you,” he bowed his head. “May I… take it to my chambers?”

“Of course,” Steve allowed. “Everything that is mine is now yours, James. Anything you desire can be taken to your chambers. Should that desire…” he swallowed turning away. “Be focused on another, I shall turn a blind eye.”

It was quite obviously, even as he said it, the wrong thing to say. The Prince straightened, expression hardening.

“You plan to violate our union?” he accused. “What is between two people is between them alone. I have no plans to consider another, and from what I knew of you, Your Highness, you were the same.” His face reddened as his blood seemed to boil. “If you brought me here under false pretences, Steven, then I would prefer you wage war, than to insult the honour of me and my kingdom both.”

His eyes were blazing and that, _that_ was why Steve accepted.

Steve raised his hands, a token of peace.

“I apologise,” he bowed his head, humble and apologetic. “I did not mean to cause offence. Merely that you are as free here as you are in your own home. I plan to desecrate our union as much as you do. My people desire a King whose consort is happy, is all. If you would be happier…” he swallowed. “Seeking other company, then you may. If you don’t, then don’t. Either way, I will not stand in your way.”

The Prince stood suddenly, turning away and leaving the throne room. If he didn’t possess such a confidence to his step, such a straightness to his back, Steve would almost call it fleeing.

 

James returned to his side an hour later, with his lips pursed, but no apology on them, assuming his seat and meeting with some of Steve’s people.

“We’re discussing the wedding,” Steve broke the awkward silence. “The planner thinks it should be soon.”

“How soon?” James sighed, as though he was already imagining the preparations to be made.

“The next month,” Steve frowned. “I think we should wait. A month is an unreasonable period of time to have the blacksmith design and create both our rings and your Consort’s Crown.”

“I’m sure the blacksmith has been designing both of those things since you turned of age.” James pointed out, raising his eyebrows in challenge. “Where is he?”

“She’s been summoned,” Steve waved it off. “I’m sure she’ll be here within the hour. You believe she’s up to the task?”

“Of course I do,” James shrugged. “After all, Gold is a very powerful motivator.”

Sure enough, the royal blacksmith deigned to arrive, harried, with a smudge of soot across her cheek, with a deep curtsy.

“Your Highness- _es_ ,” Darcy half-panicked, shooting a gaze to the unfamiliar prince upon the Throne.

“It’s alright, Darcy,” Steve relieved her calmly. “Do you have something to show us?” He prodded, gesturing to the parchment in her hands.

“Yes!” she grinned, darting forward. If it were anyone but she, his guards would already be in front of them both, and Steve would be halfway to drawing his sword, but as it stood, the castle had had four years to get used to the blacksmith protégée who overtook her master when she was but seventeen.

“Your mother instructed me, when you turned twenty-one,” she bowed her head at the mention of his deceased mother. “To design crowns for the betrothed. We all knew, of course, of your – well – um, _preference_ for men, but she told me to design a woman’s crown in any case, but – well. That’s been discarded now. As it stands, I have three to show Prince James, and once he has expressed a preference we can continue – and of course the rings! I have a prototype, Your Majesty, if you would like to see-”

“Darcy,” Steve interrupted gently, a reminder to slow down and calm herself. “Would you show us the crown templates, please?”

“Right,” she huffed, determined as she spread apart the parchment, passing the first to James, the second to Steve, and holding onto the third.

Steve considered the one he was holding carefully, but ultimately, he passed it to his consort, who looked thoughtfully at the first. A glance at the second had him frowning, so Steve passed it back to Darcy, who rolled it up again, passing him the final one. That one also got a frown, so Darcy smiled as she considered the first design.

“This one, Your Highness?”

James hesitated for a moment, before nodding.

“Thank you,” Steve smiled on their behalf, and she produced a small ring from a satchel. “James?” Steve conferred after he considered it. Small, not extravagant. Ideal for Steve, but perhaps not so for James.

“It’s lovely,” he sounded almost conflicted.

“Is something wrong?” Steve prompted.

“It was my impression that Kings are… public about their wealth. A ring like this doesn’t show that.”

“My kingdom prospers,” Steve bristled. “I don’t want my people to envy me, nor do I want their unending worship. I want my people to be proud of us for living frugally, so that instead of wasting our economy, we let it thrive. And besides, a ring is between a man and his betrothed. Not the Kingdom.”

James was silent for a long moment, gaze unwavering as he met Steve’s eyes. His expression was entirely undecipherable, until it broke into a small, reluctant smile.

“It’s a beautiful ring,” he shrugged, as if he were almost ashamed to admit it. “I would have chosen something similar.”

“Good,” Steve nodded, trying to make eye contact, but James refused to look up. “Darcy,” he said instead. “I’ll have someone deliver your payment.”

“But…” she frowned. “We haven’t discussed payment.”

Steve waved that away. “Will twice your last payment suffice?”

“Sir!” she gasped, scandalised. “Even that was far too much. I can only accept half so much – at _most_ three-fourths-”

“Three-fourths then,” Steve nodded, smiling as she gasped again. “You may leave, Ma’am.”

“Bloody King,” she muttered under her breath, and Steve caught James’ sharp glance in his direction. “Calling me _ma’am_ like I’m a lady.”

“Good day, Darcy,” he called again, but there was still laughter in his eyes as she left the throne room.

“You allow your subjects to treat you like that?” James demanded as soon as the door closed. “Behaviour like that is usually…”

Steve’s smile slipped off his face, coldness replacing it.

“My subjects are my people. We have spent the past four decades establishing a relationship between ourselves and them. The months of July and August, we are peripatetic, we give our attention to as much of our kingdom as we can visit. Our inhabitants respect the crown, and in return we respect them.” He replied, scathing. “If there is famine in one part of our country, we send supplies from the farm with the most plentiful harvest. If there is crime, each city sends a soldier to petition for assistance, and it is received.”

“Your highness,” James tried to interrupt, hanging his head, but Steve raised a hand, not in violence or anger, in frustration, to silence James’ words before he spoke.

“No one in _my_ kingdom,” he seethed. “Will ever be executed for treason for something so trivial as having a personal relationship with the crown. We have worked to establish this kind of respect for years, so _yes_ , to answer your question. I _do_ allow my subjects to treat me like the Lady Darcy did, as she is a faithful servant of our people.” His lip curled into an angry sneer. “I am no tyrant.”

Prince James looked beyond humiliated, and Steve, though justified, was grateful, at least, that his persecution was witnessed only by the three remaining guards in the room, none of which twitching as their King verbally sparred against his consort.

“I meant no disrespect, your majesty.” James did not lift his head, not even dragging his gaze from the carpeted floor.

“You should learn,” Steve said, voice low. “Quickly, that we rule our kingdoms in different ways, but while you are here you will abide by our customs.”

“Believe it or not,” James replied suddenly, voice pitched low as though still shamed, but there was an intensity to it. “My mother ruled similarly to yours. It was my father that was the tyrant, and it has been my experience that male rulers were often destined to one path. I was simply surprised to see that perhaps the world isn’t quite as cruel as I imagined.”

Steve hummed low in his throat, not entirely believing the young prince, but giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“Then don’t be surprised when I desire, contrary to what you expected, to be a benevolent king.” He pursed his lips and turned his gaze to one of his guards. “What else is on our schedule for the day, Clint?”

“That’s it, your Majesty,” his knight inclined his head. “Short of an emergency, you and the Prince are free for the remainder of the evening.”

Steve nodded with a sigh and turned his gaze to his consort. “If you would like to retire, you may,” he half-dismissed, careful, despite his irritation, to leave it as a cleverly worded request. If James would like to remain by his side, he was welcome to.

James simply inclined his head but remained rooted to his spot.

“What do you do for entertainment, Your Highness?” he asked quietly, not quite meeting his eyes, but seeming to want to redeem himself. Steve sighed.

“Not much,” Steve admitted wryly. “I’ve rarely had time to myself since my coronation, I simply retire to the library or my quarters.”

“That,” James declared. “Is unforgivably boring. I’ve yet to receive a tour of the castle. Perhaps you wish to volunteer?”

Steve went red, a little surprised at himself for forgetting to show his consort around his home for the foreseeable future.

“I don’t think it can be called _volunteering_ if I’m wheedled into doing so in the first place,” he grumbled, but got to his feet and extended a hand to the Prince, even though he was quite capable of standing up by himself. Sure enough, James raised a brow and pushed himself up from his throne, without even twitching towards his offered hand. “Is there anything you’d like to see first?” Steve asked, to cover his obvious rejection.

“I haven’t been here in so long, I imagine everything has changed,” James replied ruefully, shaking his head. Steve tilted his head, thoughtful.

“So you’ve been here before,” he teased quietly, walking off at a slow pace. “Another clue.”

Though James didn’t reply, he could almost hear the prince cursing himself.

“You’re just far too slow,” James deflected wryly.

“Let’s see the gardens,” Steve proposed with a small smile, grateful, at least, that the tension from their earlier disagreements had dissipated. “They’re –” he caught himself, turning his gaze away for a moment. “They _were_ my mother’s pride and joy. To have the gardens looking so beautiful…” he shook his head, letting himself smile.

“I’d love to see them.” The prince smiled, careful and quiet, testing the waters since it was his kingdom that bore the punishment for the death of Her Majesty.

“It’s beautiful in the spring,” Steve murmured, unwilling to allow their tentative moods to be tarnished. “And gorgeous in the summer.”

They got to the private exit into the back gardens of the palace, and they stretched on for miles beyond the border; much of the land belonged to farmers, but upon hearing of the Queen’s favour towards gardening, they had graciously offered their lands and services, and were paid handsomely as both farmers and botanists.

“She used to,” he paused, laughing as he looked at some of the plants. “She loved gardening. It was her favourite hobby. Sometimes, when the weight of the crown was far too heavy, she would declare that she was retiring, and no one but myself could disturb her.” He smiled, almost secretive, the memories bittersweet and soaking his eyes. “In reality, she would shed her gowns and trade them for simple robes. She was indistinguishable from the gardeners she employed, and even cultivated her own vegetable garden.”

He pointed towards it, a fairly decent sized patch; the vegetables that Sarah used to grow were enough to keep them both fed for two weeks, should they last so long. They didn’t, however, so they would often throw feasts purely to share their harvest with their employees.

“It’s lovely,” James sounded particularly in awe, which Steve may have thought slightly unrealistic, since it was just a garden, but it was beautiful, so he couldn’t argue much. “Your… Queen Sarah seemed like a wonderful woman, and a great Queen.”

“She was,” he was getting a little choked up. “The best, in fact. If I am half the ruler she was, I’ll consider my reign a success.”

“I’m sure you will be,” James assured him quietly, turning his gaze to the surrounding gardens in admiration.

Impulsively, Steve leaned over to pluck a few stalks of peonies, swallowing as he presented them to James. Once again, James raised an eyebrow, though his lip curled upwards.

“Flowers,” he said drily.

“An apology?” Steve half laughed. “We haven’t had the best first day. Perhaps a new start is due?”

“Perhaps,” James agreed lightly, taking the flowers with a considering look. “These are lovely.”

“I’ll have a vase sent to your room,” Steve promised earnestly. James rolled his eyes.

“You’ve always been so… stubborn.”

Steve tilted his head. “How well did you know me? You seem to know me at least somewhat well. Yet I still don’t recall us ever meeting.”

James broke his gaze, looking away with a sigh. “We were childhood friends, of sorts. I only realised you were the Prince when I turned fourteen. I suppose you never had any such revelation.” There was a long moment where Steve suspected he wasn’t going to say more, but he was floored when the Prince looked down again and whispered, almost sadly, “You knew me as Bucky.”

The change that overcome Steve was instantaneous, eyes lighting up even as his jaw went a little slack.

“Bucky?” he replied, just as quiet. “My best friend? That was you? I had no idea you were a prince – nor that your given name was James!”

James’ smile was small, but not entirely joyful, which drew Steve to a pause.

“Is everything alright?”

“We were good friends, once.” The Prince sighed wryly. “I wish that hadn’t changed.”

Steve frowned, brows coming together to form a crease. It had been over twelve years since they last met, that Steve could now think of, and he struggled to remember why that had ended.

“We were Princes of Kingdoms that started to threaten war with one another,” James supplied, seeming to gather from Steve’s expression precisely what was crossing his mind. “My mother only told me that after my father died.”

“Mine never said anything,” Steve murmured quietly, unexpected grief rearing it’s ugly head.

“It was hard for my mother to tell me,” James attempted to sooth, a frown on his lips. “It had to be. My best friend might have been my enemy, had things gone differently. We almost were, days ago.”

“Now we’re allies,” Steve told him firmly, steel to his gaze and determination to his jaw. “And we’re going to be married. That counts for something at least.”

“I suppose it must,” James sighed, evasive, turning his gaze to his peonies. “The rest of the castle?”

“Certainly,” Steve agreed smoothly, and whatever moment they had shared had ended.

 

The following day, James sat in on one of the court hearings that Steve often weighed in upon. He had been surprised, initially, that once again, Steve cared for the trivialities of his subjects lives. Steve tried to be more patient as he once again explained that his people wanted to see him care – and he did.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t boring. It was. While Steve cared deeply for each and every person that resided in his Kingdom, he really couldn’t bring himself to enjoy settling trivial disputes between farmers’ lands, between bakers’ dozens, nor whether someone had stolen a single golden coin. The latter, when that instance first occurred in court when he was but fifteen, he had scoffed. His mother had scolded him in front of the entirety of the court, and he, the Prince, had to apologise, red-faced, to the young woman whose savings had been swindled. Going further, he had pulled a single gold coin from his pocket and handed it to her; anything more would have been seen as demeaning her measly savings, presenting himself as extravagant and rude.

It had been a particularly harsh lesson, as his peers had laughed at him for several weeks, but he was glad he had learnt it. No amount was too little – for it mattered gravely to he who had lost it.

After the final case had been heard and his ruling given, James, once more incredulous, but more pleased, expressed himself.

“You handled that remarkably well.”

Steve smiled. “Thank you. My mother always emphasised the importance of allowing our people to air grievances. In the past, the monarchy has seen the people as something to go through to receive money. To raise taxes, or to simply demand more. With my parents assuming the throne, they vowed to change this. You can see that we have kept our word – and I plan to ensure this pattern continues for generations.”

For a moment, it looked like James sincerely wanted to question that statement, perhaps to ask who would inherit, or how he would ever have an heir, but seemed to think against it. He snapped his mouth shut, but Steve took pity on him.

“My cousin will inherit. Or perhaps your sister and her children. They have a legitimate claim to my throne, through marriage. Since we won’t ever be able to produce heirs ourselves, we’ll have to consider alternatives. Although,” he smiled, almost wistful. “I will hope that it is many years before we consider this.”

“I suppose it will be,” James agreed, his mouth turned into a searching frown. “If I may be excused, your high – I’m sorry,” he shook his head, catching himself once again. “Steve?”

“I wish you wouldn’t ask,” Steve sighed, but nodded. “You may. Dinner is at sunset, I trust you will join us?”

“I’ll return before then,” said James.

His Prince kept his word, returning more than an hour before the sunset with a book in hand, assuming a seat silently beside Steve in the library, and wordlessly, they both acknowledged one another’s presence, continuing to read their separate books.

It was possibly the most peaceful evening they had spent together.

 

“A… horse.” James said flatly, staring at Steve with such an unimpressed look that he almost shrank back.

“Yes, a horse.” Steve said, straightening. “A well-bred stallion. She is a beauty, hails from your kingdom, and won two championships by her third year. They were all too happy to… gift her to us.”

A white lie, as though they were willing to part with her, especially for a King, he was not exempt from paying a price. Albeit, Steve paid a far larger sum than he had for any other horse, but only at his own insistence.

“Their gift to me.” James repeated, shaking his head. “Where is she, then? I suppose I must see my personal steed.”

He sounded exasperated, Steve noted, but not wholly against the notion, so he waved at one of his servers and asked her to send for the stable boy, asking that she be ready following supper.

Sure enough, James finished the last of his meal, and after wiping politely at his face with a napkin, he arose from the table and Steve followed eagerly. The walk was brief, and though Steve was nervous, there was no tension between them.

“Oh,” James gasped as he caught sight of the beast. “She _is_ beautiful isn’t she?”

Relieved, Steve smiled. “She’s spectacular. Perhaps, when the weather is kinder, we can take her and mine out for a ride. Hunting, or simple sight-seeing if you’d prefer.”

“That sounds lovely, actually,” his betrothed hummed, carefully raising his hand to his steed so as not to spook her. “Her name?”

“Anything you desire,” Steve said automatically. James looked at him for a moment before breaking into a smile.

“Desire. A lovely name.”

Steve went pink, a surprisingly flattering colour against the velvet purple cape draped over his shoulders.

“Indeed,” he coughed, hoarse.

 

“Steven?” James asked suddenly the following morning at breakfast, expression like he’d bitten a lemon.

“Yes?” He replied warily; James didn’t often call him Steven, after all.

“Have you been courting me?” he demanded.

Steve shrank back slightly, cheeks flushing pink. “Well, yes. Of course I have, yes.”

“What do you mean _of course you have_?”

He blinked. “We’re getting married.”

“Yes, we are. You don’t need to court me, Steve, we’re already engaged.”

“I know that,” he frowned. “But I wanted to. Court you, I mean. Perhaps if our circumstances were different, I could have courted you properly.”

James twisted his head slightly, pulling backwards without physically moving his body. “What?” he asked weakly. “You… _want_ to court me?”

“Yes, I do.” Steve met his eyes. “We’re getting married, but that doesn’t mean we’re… well, lovers. I’d like to be, if you’d let me, but as I’ve said. If you’d prefer to take lovers that aren’t me, then I-”

“No,” James interrupted, though rather faintly. “No, no lovers, no.”

Steve hesitated.  “If you’d like for me to stop courting you-”

“No!” James interrupted again, though more forcefully this time. “No. I… was under the impression that you felt obligated to, is all.” He flushed pink, dropping his head but looking up at Steve through his lashes. “Now that I know we’re courting, you can expect some gifts of your own.”

“Oh,” Steve smiled, pleasantly surprised, letting his eyes flicker down just _so_ to-

 James’ mouth, to James’ pretty eyelashes and the way he bared his neck.

An improvement, Steve thought, wonderful and a blessing.

 

 

When James first initiated conversation, one that had no bearing on politics, or his people, or his kingdom, Steve’s heart swelled; James was quiet, almost shy for such a forthcoming Prince, asking gently how Steve was, how his morning or afternoon had passed, or even for a particular opinion on a book they had both read.

It was easy for the young King to admit to himself, far, far too easy, that he was falling in love. It made his chest ease to know that it was to his future husband. He wondered, once in a while, as he caught James’ gaze flicker to his, amid a small smile purely for Steve, if the Prince felt the same way.

 

“The wedding date is this Friday noon,” Steve said suddenly, as he was almost about to take a bite of his food. It was extensively rude, he realised, so he let his fork clatter against his plate as he turned his gaze to his consort.

“Yes, it is,” James raised a brow. “What of it?”

“I,” Steve paused. “I hadn’t noticed how quickly the time has passed.” The young king swallowed. “Are you… Is the kingdom to your liking? Do you feel… welcome?”

“Steve,” His Prince’s smile was sly and soft. “Are you asking if I am _happy_ here?”

“I suppose I am,” Steve said with an uncharacteristic shyness especially unheard of for a king. But they were almost entirely alone, for not every night they held feasts, and more nights than not, there was but the two of them, and two guards at the door.

“I return that sentiment,” James smiled. “Although there is one favour I wish to ask of you.”

“Anything,” Steve promised without an ounce of hesitation.

“James is a name that only my mother, and those I liked least, call me.”

It was worded very precisely, very carefully, as a gentle invitation, almost provoking Steve.

“You still go by _Bucky_?”

“Where possible, yes,” James’ smile was not in the least bit embarrassed, only welcoming and calm.

“You’re happy here,” Steve surmised, tilting his head slightly to one side. James laughed, turning his gaze back to his half eaten dinner.

“I’ve already told you that I am,” his eyes twinkled. “So will you do me that favour?”

“For now and forever, Bucky.”

 

That evening, dusk falling over their kingdom, they strolled in an amicable silence to their rooms, and Steve, the gentlemen, held his lover by his rosy cheeks and pressed the first, tender kiss to his lips; first of millions, one of not-enough.

The nights they had to spend apart now seemed less like a blessing, more like torture. Too few hours in a day to spend with one another.

 

“Up!” his servant called irritably from the door, slamming it open.  Steve turned to face him, the picture of innocence even though he had already neatened everything to perfection, laid out his wedding clothes, and was just picking out the wrinkles.

“Oh,” the man paused, eyeing the young king from head to toe. “You’re awake. Well, good. Your bath is running, your Highness, so get to it. The stylist will be joining you to shave and clean you.”

Glad for something to do, Steve rose, fiddling nervously with the tie of his robe. “Is Bucky…”

“No questions!” he snapped. “Not a peep about him, you’ll see in a half days’ time anyway.”

 

“Is he being seen to?” he asked, biting his lip as his stylist cleaned his hair viciously.

“King or not, you will be quiet,” the man grumbled.

“But is he?”

“Yes, now silence! I can’t work with you fidgeting and talking so much.”

 

“What is he wearing?” Steve floundered, and Sir Barton snickered loudly. Steve shot him a glare. “I’m curious. No one told me about the traditions we’re following for the wedding.”

“The planner arranged it all,” Clint soothed mockingly. “He’s been paid extraordinary amounts of money precisely to make this whole wedding look good. Trust me. Your Prince looks good.”

“He does?” Steve asked, dopey.

“Oh wow. I wish we could paint the expression on your face, but we don’t have time for that.”

 

As he was having his hair meticulously arranged by his stylist, he saw the door open in the mirror, and one of his other knights slip in, whispering something in Clint’s ear. Clint’s eyes went wide and he darted his gaze over to meet Steve’s before dropping it quickly, turning to continue in hushed tones with the man at his side.

“What is it?” Steve demanded, holding up a hand to halt the stylist, who huffed in irritation.

“Nothing, Your Majesty,” Clint assured him quickly, though his mouth was pinched. “Your consort is just proving to be… difficult.”

“Difficult how? Tell me.” he commanded, narrowing his eyes. Of all times for Bucky to become impatient or snappish, the morn of their wedding?

“He’s… left, Your Highness.” The younger knight bit his lip, nervous as though he would be punished. “Gone, sir. No note, nothing. We – we’re searching the grounds for him-”

“Stop.” He said, suddenly quiet. He wasn’t panicking, really, he wasn’t. Just thoughtful. “Call off the search. He won’t be found unless he wants to be. If he intends to come back, he will.”

“But – _sir_ -”

“Come an hour before the wedding if he’s not back. If you don’t come, I will assume he is back and prepared. If you do, then I’ll stand in the chapel alone and wait. Either there is a wedding today or there isn’t. Go on, pass the message on.”

The young man swallowed nervously, before nodding his head and bowing out of the room. Taking a deep, quiet breath, Steve turned to Clint.

“Have them check the stables. See if he has taken Desire.”

“Of course.” Clint nodded, leaving for a moment.

It was only a further ten minutes before a knock at the door.

“Desire is still in her stable, sir.”

“Thank you, Peter.” Steve acknowledged with a private smile.

 

No one returned to tell him that his consort had not been found, so Steve’s chest fluttered. He had come back, and they would be married by the day’s end.

With a half hour left to go, Steve was led to the cathedral before his noble people, before those fortunate enough to gain entry to such a well-subscribed event, and waited.

When the organ began its hauntingly beautiful tune, Steve had to resist the urge to turn and look at his husband; tradition dictated that he could only see him or her once they had reached the podium, He still heard his people rise to their feet, an overwhelming peace accompanying them as they chorused along to the music, and watched his Prince descend upon the aisle. When, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bucky come to a halt, he turned to face him, offering his hands. Bucky took them quickly, a soft, anxious smile on his face.

“Hi,” Steve greeted, sliding his thumbs over Bucky’s hands. “Heard you got nervous.”

“I needed a walk,” he admitted quietly. “Remind myself why I’m doing this.”

It felt like he’d been dunked into ice water, as the tentative smile slipped off his face.

“I thought you said you were happy,” Steve sighed, ready to pull his hands from Bucky’s.

“I am.” Bucky promised, conviction deep in his voice and eyes as open and honest as he’d ever see them. Without a single word more, it was enough for Steve to understand the gratiy of what Bucky had just admitted to.

“Shall we begin?” the minister boomed, respectful.

“Yes,” Bucky answered for them both.

 

“Do you promise to have and to hold one another, from this day forward, until death do you part?”

The minister spoke first to Steve, whose resolute _I do_ , stole a smile from Bucky; he returned it with one of his when Bucky repeated the two words.

Steve hardly waited for him to concede that they could kiss before he surged forwards  and took his husband’s face in his hands and _kissed_ ; like they had that first time, like the time after that and every time since, passionate, explosive, infinite. He could hear the congregation laughing and applauding, seeing the Prince they never thought would marry do precisely that, and enthusiastically so, was quite the spectacle. Bucky didn’t even hesitate before kissing back with as much fervour as one could contain in a single kiss.

When he pulled back, it was with a smile, entranced by his husband’s spit-slick lips, as he returned his dazed gaze.

Without a second to spare, the minister stepped forward and once again called for the attention of the room. They had arranged for Bucky’s coronation to be immediate following their wedding, to establish his official title as Prince Consort, Heir to Winter Throne.

How Steve mourned the loss of his husband’s warmth against his own as he watched the coronation, heard his consort swear to uphold the law of this kingdom as fervently as his own, as he swore unending loyalty to the crown and its people. He was comforted, however, by the strength to his Prince’s words, by his unfailing gaze upon the minister’s, by the way he didn’t falter for even a second as he promised his devotion.

As his crown was settled upon his head, met to yet more applause, Steve couldn’t help but appreciate it. It complemented his suit perfectly, beyond measure, and was so outstandingly beautiful that he knew Bucky had chosen well when he favoured that particular design.

Heavily adorned with priceless jewels, centred with arches that added extra height to his already large frame, it was truly a crown fit for a King; which he was, now, no matter what the law and what politics say. Bucky is his husband, and he is the King. If he were a woman, she would already be a Queen, but instead, he can only be named Prince Consort – they wouldn’t allow the title _King_ consort.

Bucky had already worn his coronet around the castle before, and he looked simply divine in it, but the ceremonial crown was beyond a doubt _ethereal_.

When Bucky rose to his feet, gaze casted out at the people that were now his own, he looked _proud;_ he looked happy, and willing, and Steve once again stepped forward to capture his husband’s lips in his.

 

“The crown suits you,” Steve complimented as soon as they were let alone for longer than a moment.

“I hope its burdens do also,” Bucky replied, and Steve laughed, a smile lighting his face.

“They do, just as yours are mine.” The young king leaned forward to press his lips against his husband’s once again, careful not to tip his head back and send his crown clattering to the floor. “I’m glad you stayed.”

“I’m glad too. I meant it when I said that I was happy. Really, I did. I am.”

“I’m glad too,” Steve promised softly, as one of his subjects interrupted them again and thrust them into the spotlight once more for their first dance as a couple.

 

“I should warn you,” Steve began in an undertone as they waited for the music to start, people staring on every side. “I’ve never had the opportunity to learn to dance.”

Bucky chuckled. “You can’t dance?” Steve shook his head, turning pink as the first keys of a piano were played. Instantly, Bucky switched the position of their arms so that he was leading, and Steve was all too happy to follow along. “I’ll show you,” Bucky replied softly, as he led them into a simple step and dance, turning them around in a circle on the floor.

“You’re remarkably good at this.”

“I had fun, as a child. I suppose you were too sick to do the same.” His tone was rather remorseful. “I wish things had been different. We could have danced much sooner than now.”

“But then we wouldn’t have such a cherished memory,” Steve teased, eager to turn the conversation from its morose angle.

“Cherished,” Bucky chuckled, leading him around the dancefloor. “Of all memories to cherish, this is certainly going to be one.”

“Aren’t you a romantic?” Steve whispered, wishing beyond measure that he could kiss him again, but couldn’t since they were dancing.

Once they stopped, though. Steve would kiss him.

And he did.

**Author's Note:**

> For any curious, the summary for the overall fic only covers the first chapter. I'm not sure how I'm going to go about summarising the other two chapters - I may just leave them to chapter summaries. Overall, this is essentially three stories within the same universe, same characters, all of it. You can stop reading here if you like to end with fluff and domesticity. You can end on ch2 for angst and pain. You can end at ch3 for all to be right again.  
> Also, Steve's kingdom doesn't have name. It's essentially 'The Great Kingdom', or 'His Propserous...' etc etc. I refuse to name it Shield, Brooklyn, New York, or anything else.


End file.
